


Lost In Translation

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Thinker, The Feeler [12]
Category: Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Amica Endurae, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Confrontations, Criticism, Dubious Science, Emotionally Repressed, Epic Friendship, Insults, Loneliness, Mid-Canon, Partnership, Past Abuse, Prayer, Primus does care, Protectiveness, Running Away, Secrets, Self-Pity, Shame, Singing, Song Lyrics, Supportive Heatwave, Unresolved Tension, ignorance, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9471380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: This was one of the areas where unfortunate similarities were drawn from Chase’s current coworkers to his past; it was rarer than it had been on Cybertron, but there were times when the humans clearly thought him naïve.While he's in a case of writer's block, Chase makes another earnest attempt at a different human hobby, but it isn't long before he gets an adverse reaction from his teammates.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Enclosed in the story is a headcanon credited to delkios on tumblr. I suggest you read that story first but it's not severely mandatory. If you want to read the headcanon, go [here](http://delkios.tumblr.com/tagged/rescue-bots) and look for "Everything's Alright".
> 
> If you want the short version, it's that some Bots have been part of scientific experiments which dampen their emotions to make them "more objective", but it just makes it hard for them to understand abstract ideas like "fun" or "joy" or "hate". Some of these Bots develop anxiety problems, obsessiveness, perfectionism, etc. Chase is one of these Bots.

It wasn’t often that Chase raised his voice but when he did, everyone in the bunker could hear him. He reverberated through the walls, through the floor, through any number of surfaces, until poor Boulder, who was attuned to sonar, had to excuse himself so he could be rid of his helm-ache. As a matter of fact, it was through Boulder that everyone had learned to deal with the noise the Cybertronians made; the bulldozer’s attempts at dancing had disturbed many a quiet night.

Boulder’s booming steps seemed like the softest of hums compared to Chase’s _singing_ —if it could be called that. After the incident with Doc Greene’s singing machine, Chase had become convinced that he wanted to reach that same level of proficiency without help. Clearly that meant he would need to dedicate time and effort to his new hobby, so whenever he wasn’t writing another draft of his novel, he was singing for whoever would lend an ear or an audial.

Chase wasn’t too surprised when the others made their excuses and escaped as soon as he started to ask. He had once overheard Kade muttering under his breath that the policemech was “tone-deaf”. After remembering how the robotic baby had reacted so long ago, he couldn’t be more certain of this: he needed many, _many_ hours of practice and if he ever wanted to impress his team with his improvement, he could not allow himself to buckle under the strain of their criticism. He was mildly grateful that they tried to keep their rude remarks under control until he left the room, but he had neither tone-deafness nor deafness of any other kind.

“ _I—I—I—I know that you’re my constant,_ ” he intoned, shuffling the sheaf of sheet music in his hand, “ _even if I’ve lost it…I—I—I—I’m chasing after you like a compass…compass…_ ” With gusto he lifted his voice higher, almost hoping he would seem oblivious to what his teammates were saying of him nearby. This was one of the areas where unfortunate similarities were drawn from Chase’s current coworkers to his past; it was rarer than it had been on Cybertron, but there were times when the humans clearly thought him naïve.

 _Naïve, ignorant, unknowing, unaware_ , his processor supplied synonyms to his music’s beat. He didn’t bother to stop the stream, riveting on it, gathering what feelings he could from it. He was sure he recognized rising tingles of indignation, if not simple hurt and anger. Didn’t indignation stem from those feelings? Either way happiness was _absent_ from his spark and it had been made clear over the course of his life—usually by these same teammates—that unhappiness was generally unacceptable.

“Chase’s got a real ‘talent’, huh?” Blades sighed. It might have seemed like a compliment, but the flyer was leaning one audial into his hand and wincing, belying his surface words.

“Talent?” Kade echoed derisively. “Like his song says, somewhere along the way he’s lost it! He should be chasing after that somewhere else!”

“ _I am drifting…_ ” Chase began the song again, pivoting on his heelstrut and walking the lengths of the bay for more projection. “ _A hundred million thoughts spent on the wrong thing…_ ”

“Like singing, apparently,” someone else whispered, more gingerly than the others. Judging by the unsaid apology in the words, it may have been Graham.

“ _Trekking through the universe…I never thought that I would be the one to give up first—”_

“Does that mean he’ll give up anytime soon?” Dani whined.

“ _Now I must confess…Here’s my SOS…_ ” Chase spun more jerkily than he might otherwise, planting his feet with a bang as he rounded on the rest of the team. Sharing startled glances, they peered up at him, wondering why he was confronting them. That was the true ignorance, he decided, opening his mouth and then hesitating. He shuffled his sheet music slightly. He had intended to catch them at it and had succeeded, but beyond that he wasn’t sure what he had hoped to say to them. His spark sank as much as it could when he registered their expressions: they held no guilt, only pity. They _pitied_ him and his lack of talent. He swallowed, opening his hand and letting the sheets of paper flutter to the floor.

“I will go outside,” he stated neutrally, using what he believed the humans called a ‘voice inside’, though he wasn’t sure where else it was assumed to originate. “Thank you for your attention.” None of them answered and that was to be expected, so Chase didn’t wait for them to try, taking his leave.

Once he was out in the open air in front of the firehouse, he found himself unable to stop there. He transformed, swerving away and driving listlessly, though he was focused enough to stay restricted to the exact speed limit. Eventually he found himself halfway up Mount Griffin, perched on a ledge overlooking the island.

“ _Endless stars and endless space…_ ” he enunciated after several minutes. Though he was clearly alone now, he snapped his mouth shut as soon as his voice cracked, spark dipping lower in its chamber, optics falling to his knees with it. For a klik or two he wondered if Primus would hear him from so far away, so he lifted his voice more firmly than he might have.

“I do not understand, sir. That’s a phrase I use often, no matter how long I have lived here with the humans. I simply _don’t understand_. Is it my programming hindering me? Is it the riveting? I am unsure. I believe I feel confusion, but I cannot be sure of that either.” He trailed off, shaking his helm a little. “My fellow Rescue Bots have tried to explain Earth to me, but I still do not understand these human nuances, their turns of phrase…their songs…I feel that I—I haven’t understood others, human or Cybertronian, since I underwent the NET treatment. Is that surely the cause, Primus, sir, or was I wired this way since sparking? Why am I constantly lost in translation?”

For the first time in a long time, Chase could feel—yes, he could _deeply_ feel it: a presence, Primus’ presence, unseen but surely there, and it was somewhat comforting. Venting a short sigh, he swept his gaze over Griffin Rock once more and then shuttered his optics. He never glanced at his chronometer to see how long he stayed there, but when he was debating whether or not he should turn his comm. on in case of an emergency call, he heard the whoop of familiar sirens.

Heatwave transformed at a distance of a few yards, studying Chase for a klik or two in an obvious attempt to read him before moving forward and sitting down with a grunt, slumping against the rock at their backs and folding his arms. For the first few minutes, Chase tried to forcibly lighten the heaviness in his spark and EM field, but from what he was sensing from his Amica, Heatwave wasn’t going to believe any guise. Giving up, he followed Heatwave’s lead and leaned against the mountain.

“They don’t like it when you sing their songs,” the firemech voiced what they were both pondering as soon as Chase had relaxed. “They’re the natives, so I think we can assume they’re the experts.”

“Indeed. You’re saying that my feelings are irrational,” Chase said morosely. “Logically I’ve known this for some time, but it seems they don’t care for my attempts to improve for them either.”

Heatwave’s EM field flicked at him, chastising. “I never said you were being irrational. If they had insulted _me_ like that, I’d still be back there yelling at ’em.”

“‘Still be?’” Chase offered Heatwave a sidelong glance. “Does that mean you were addressing the team on my behalf?”

“You bet I was.”

Chase’s spark perked up, relieved and grateful. Here was the one mech who had loyally tried to understand him for all these vorns. Though he wasn’t sure—and never wanted—Heatwave to fully comprehend what NET had done, his defense was the first kindness Chase had received the entire afternoon. “Did you…tell them my secret during your…oration?”

“No. I promised I wouldn’t, though I still don’t get why you _wouldn’t_ tell them.” As Chase digested this, Heatwave nudged him, a crooked grin surfacing. “As Kade might say, I wouldn’t mind if you ‘let her rip’. It’d be nice to hear it again.”

“Oh. Um…Very well. Ahem.” After a slight falter out of shyness, the policemech slid his vocalizer into a low purr and then a rustic, clicking trill, alternating between them with the proficiency of a singer who had performed many times—with an audience of one. Chase was simply relieved that of all mechs, Heatwave had always been that audience. Instead of the humans’ words, he focused on all of the admiration Heatwave had given him in the past: “gifted,” “shocking,” even “stage-worthy”…before he had learned of Chase’s stage fright.

Even so, every praise was a warm and vital part of their secret and Chase kept them close as he continued, easily translating the human song into Cybertronian. Heatwave’s grin softened into a more contemplative smile and Chase returned it briefly as he changed to a song about home, smoothly and surely, never missing a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a little headcanon of mine that Chase may be _terrible_ at singing human songs, but when he sings in Cybertronian, he sounds like an angel  <3 Due to his stage fright/fear of public performance, however, only Heatwave has had the privilege of knowing and listening. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
